


armour

by caryophyllaceae (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crying During Sex, Cuddles, Emotional Sex, Fingering, First Time, Implied Cheating, Jealousy, Kisses, M/M, Pet Names, Sweet Sex, Trans Character, Trans!John, a realistic first time!, and my favorite things ever, dave calls john sugar which is one of like, dave is jealousssss, don't be fooled by the tags, fluff just fluff so much, just a bit, leave me i just love trans john okay, my biggest headcanons ever, the johnkat however is mentioned a lot and is sorta a focal point i guess??, this is johndave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8014522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/caryophyllaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>(n) a secret or illicit love affair or lover.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	armour

**Author's Note:**

> song used in the beginning: feelings - maroon 5.
> 
> also happens to be the song i listened to while writing this.

 

 _and does he know that there's nobody quite like you_ _  
so let me tell you all the things he never told you_

Okay.

“Okay.”

John rolls his eyes at you and straddles your lap. You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth in an attempt to not have a panic attack, which is proving to be very difficult at this moment in time. “Dude,” he says, leaning close enough that your foreheads and glasses bump together and you can feel his breath on your lips. “Would you stop being such a wimp and _do something_ already? I mean, we’ll be in college by the time you make a move.”

What a smartass. The first thing you decide to try is finding somewhere to put your hands, but it doesn’t take long before John is fed up with that—he always was impatient—and he grabs you by the wrists and forces your hands onto his hips. You’re both only fourteen and your sister is in the room next door, but that certainly doesn’t seem to be stopping him. Not that you want him to stop, but—

you just wish he’d stop being cooler than you, already. You’re supposed to be the cool one, the cool best bro to his bumbling nerd, but he seems to be out-cooling you, now. “Listen. I think you might, like, be halfway to having a panic attack or something? So I’m just going to kiss you, and you’re going to try and be calm, okay?” He asks. You look between his eyes and his lips and nod slowly, and then he nods back but it’s much firmer than your own, and then his lips are on yours and it’s messy and your glasses keep clinking together, but you don’t really care. You gulp down a breath and try to be a little ballsier and regain some of your cool, so you slip your hands from his hips to his ass and squeeze. He groans quietly and pulls back. “There. You’re getting it.”

“Glasses,” you choke out. “Off.”

He nods and pulls away from you, and you have to stop yourself from chasing after him because though you may not be the sex god you claimed to be, you still like the intimacy of being this close to your best friend, to your—boyfriend? You don’t know yet. You aren’t even sure if he’s broken up with Karkat Vantas or not, but you can’t say you care because dammit, you’ve liked him a lot longer than that asshole. Meanwhile, John is taking his glasses off and folding them up neatly, setting them on the bedside table, and then his fingers are on your shades and he’s looking at you, asking you if he can without saying it. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod carefully, and then John Egbert, your best friend, is taking your shades off with soft fingers and folding them up nicely, setting them aside.

“Neat eyes,” he comments. “Sadly, they’re pretty underwhelming when you smell like instead of water coming out of your shower, cheap _Axe_ body spray does.”

You punch him in the shoulder for that one and he smiles gently, leaning back in and slotting his lips against yours. Eventually, you work up the courage to break away and slip his shirt off, but you’re pretty sure it takes you about ten minutes and he’s probably getting antsy. Honestly, you’re surprised he hadn’t complained after, like, two minutes. Once his shirt is off, though. Once his shirt is off, you have no idea what to do. “Uh,” you go, facepalming internally because _what the fuck, you’re supposed to be cool._ “Cool binder.”

John snorts a laugh and reaches around himself to undo the clips of his binder. It’s almost like a bra, except the goal of it is to hide his boobs instead of supporting them. “Okay, so, this is pretty cool I guess.”

He rolls his eyes again. You notice that he seems to do that a lot. “Dude. Would you just touch my boobs or something already? I mean. You’re supposed to be all cool and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, but—you’re not always comfortable with your body, so I don’t want to push it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Dave, but I specifically just asked you to touch my boobs and I also took my binder off for you. If I wasn’t feeling my body, I would’ve kept the thing on. Now, are you going to touch my boobs, or what?”

You give a thumbs up, which makes John whap you upside the head, and then you reach your hand up and just kind of. Put it. On his boob. He rolls his eyes _again again_ , and lifts his hand up to cover yours. “Cup it, asshole. I know you’ve never touched a boob before, but geez, I’d think you watch porn at this age,” he says, squeezing his hand over yours and letting out a breathy little moan at the sensation. Once he’s pretty sure you’ve got the idea, he takes his hand away. You kind of—you’re like, freaking out, but you brush a finger over his nipple and he squeaks so you guess that’s a good sign. “That’s— _oh_ —good, Dave. You just got a cool point back.”

“Oh, now we’re counting my cool in points?” You respond, moving your hands over John’s thighs and playing with the end of his shorts. You lean forward and suck on the spot between his shoulder and ear and you know this is supposed to be sexy or something, but all you really do is get slobber all over him and teeth marks. You kind of made a red mark though, which you think might be good?

John nods. “I’ve been. You started at ten. You’re down to three, but you just got moved to four.”

You snort, rolling John’s nipple between your thumb and forefinger. “Ah,” he gives, head falling onto your shoulder. “Five. Think you can get ten?” He mumbles against your skin, pressing a feather-light kiss to you with his lips that sends a shiver up your spine. It’s kind of a pleasant shiver, you suppose. You know you aren’t cold, or anything.

“Totally? Egbert, I’m the master of being cool. It’s just facts, yo.”

He laughs breathily, lifting his head from your shoulder and his thighs from where they’re bracketed around your own and standing by the bed. You’re about to ask him if he’s just going to leave you here with a boner, but you don’t get to say anything because before you know it, he’s slipping out of his pants and tossing them somewhere across the room. John Egbert—your best friend, holy shit—is now standing by your bed, in nothing but a pair of _Ghostbusters_ boyshorts. You almost roll your eyes. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You ask, reaching for the hem of your shirt and throwing it over with John’s outfit once you get it off. Then you wriggle out of your skinny jeans even though it takes a while and John looks like he’s getting impatient, and once you finally have them off, you toss them with the clothes pile, too.

John just kind of. Sits. At the edge of your bed. He has his legs closed tight, head balanced on his knees. “We don’t have to—you don’t have to—I won’t touch you _there_ , if it makes you uncomfortable. I mean. We can do other things, y’know?”

He shakes his head at you. “No, it’s okay. You can. I just don’t know how to go about this, I guess? I mean—it isn’t my first time or anything, but—it is my first time with you, and you’re kind of my best friend and stuff, so?” He says quickly, finishing with a breathy laugh. This just so happens to be _your_ first time, so you’re as lost as he is. The only thing you can really think to do is stand, and once you’re standing, you scratch the back of your neck nervously and tell him to lay down. He smiles at you, wide, braces and buckteeth and all, and lays back against your record-print sheets. You have to lay on more than one pillow or you aren’t comfortable, so his head is propped up enough that he can still see you when you climb onto the end of the bed and just kind of sit by his feet, his closed legs.

He coughs. It’s awkward. Everything about this is awkward. Especially the whole “he’s been my best friend since we were five” thing. “So, um. You said I could touch you there, right? It’s kinda hard when you have your legs closed, ‘m just sayin’.”

Ugh, gross, no. Your accent is showing. You hope that John doesn’t notice, but by the shit-eating grin on his face, you know he does. “I guess you’re right,” he says, spreading his legs slowly, until his thighs touch your bed on each side. “Six. Look at you, getting all of those cool points back. Aren’t you just a fiery spirit.”

You pull a face. “Dude, ‘s that the thing Rose always says about me?”

He laughs, leaning his head back against your million and one pillows. “I think so, yeah.”

“Gross. Don’t say things my sister has said when we’re about to do stuff.”

He laughs again, but the laugh cuts into a high whine when you grind your palm against him. He bucks his hips up and when he realizes it happened, his cheeks flush. You chuckle and slip his underwear off, throwing them behind you and hoping they land relatively close to the little clothes pile you’ve made up in the corner. “So, I’m gonna do the thing now,” you decree, and John giggles softly, playing around with your hair. “The thing where I touch your thing.”

He giggles again. Score for Strider. “Being funny won’t get those cool points back, my friend,” he replies. You stick your tongue out at him and then you put your tongue to a different use, lapping at whatever spills out of him and slipping one finger up into him, careful not to hurt him. You’re super turned on, but you still don’t want to hurt him. “Ooh—ah—D-dave, you’re doing so good.”

“Points?” You ask when you come up for a breath.

“No,” he gives. “Actually, you’re back to five. For asking for points. It’s a rule! You can’t ask the point-dealer for points, dummy.”

“Wow, ridiculous.”

“Try harder and don’t ask me for points!”

You roll your eyes once again, and note that both of you roll your eyes a lot. Especially when it comes to each other. “Aye aye, Captain,” you respond, leaning back down to keep—holy shitballs—eating your best friend out. He dissolves into little whimpers and moans when you add a second finger, and that’s about the time where he grabs onto your hair and starts grinding against your face. You rub circles on his hip with your thumb of the hand that’s free, which is pretty much the only part of you that is free, currently.

“Eight,” he breathes out, bucking against you. “Eight and a half, maybe.”

“How are you even still talking?” You ask, slowly adding a third finger to see what happens. If John looks like it’s hurting him, you’re going to stop immediately. Sex-driven teenager or not, he’s still your best friend, and you still want him to be comfortable. “That hurt?”

He nods slowly, and you’re ready to draw the finger back out until you become too focused on the fact that there are tears on his cheeks and that he’s _still_ crying. Not to mention that it looks like he’s been crying for a few minutes. Fuck, you’re such an insensitive jerk, how did you not notice that. “Holy fuck—I—why are you crying what do I do fuck—” and before you can keep on with your rambling, John cuts you off with a low giggle, but it comes out a bit choked and for fuck’s fucking fuck, he’s still crying. Still! You’re the worst best friend, it is you.

“Seven for thinking it’s your fault,” he tells you softly, tugging at your hair. You guess that means you’re supposed to move up to him, so you slip your fingers out and despite the fact that he makes a little noise of protest at the action, you don’t really care because you’re too busy bumping your forehead against his. “I’m crying because I’m emotional. I didn’t want to make this emotional or anything, but I just— _God_ , you’re my best friend, and I—I’m still with Karkat, I couldn’t even break up with him and all of this started with some kissing and admitting of feelings and I don’t know, I just—I love you so much, oh my God, I’m such a baby.”

You tilt your head back just so in order to make your lips touch, and John lifts his chin so that your lips press together harder. You didn’t even know that he was still with Karkat—Karkat Vantas, to be specific, the douchebag who asked John out at the beginning of the school year who probably is a lot nicer than you make him out to be, but you’re just bitter because he was courageous enough to ask John out before you got the chance. When he asked John out, you were still devising a million plans with Rose and Jade to win him over. You sulked for two weeks after John and Karkat started dating, but you won’t talk about that. “You ain’t a baby,” you respond, cringing at your accent. “Strongest boy I know.”

He laughs and it’s mostly breath. You sneak your hand down his stomach and slip a finger back inside of him, which his breath hitches at. “Did Karkat ever tell you how beautiful you are?” You ask, kissing his temple. John tries to find something to hold onto, and he ends up using your shoulders. His nails are digging into you, but they’re blunt, so it doesn’t hurt very much. “‘Cause sugar, you’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re bringing your jealousy into this,” he says, his voice about three octaves higher than it usually is. “You’re down to four. Call me sugar again.”

“Sugar,” you say, a bit dumbly, you’ll add. You’re pretty sure he wanted you to say something and call him sugar on the end of it, and you’re also sure he’s going to tell you that.

“I mean, say something sweet and call me sugar on the end of it, dumpass,” he responds. “Is your brain even connecting right now?”

“You know damn well it ain’t,” you reply, adding a second finger to the mix, which makes him cry out against your lips and also makes his braces catch your top lip, which hurts like a bitch. He draws his head back and apologizes quickly, pushing himself up on his elbows and peppering your face in kisses. “With you bein’ so precious, how could it connect?”

John smiles sweetly, falling back against the pillows again. You work your fingers in and out of him slowly, and he makes tiny sounds—whimpers, squeals, moans. He isn’t very loud, but it doesn’t bother you much. “We only ever did one thing,” he says suddenly, and you’re very confused as to what he’s talking about, until he tacks on, “Me and Karkat.”

“Yeah?” You give back, trying not to sound as turned on as you know you are. “What’d you do with ‘im, sugar?”

Again, John makes a breathy noise. It’s a mix of a moan and a whine, kind of. You think it’s pretty adorable. “Grinded,” he says. “I—I called him Dave, when I came.”

Well, that’s pretty much enough for you. Like the inexperienced teenager you are, you finish in your boxers, and you guess John must have noticed because he gives you a calm smile and leans up to peck your lips. “Sugar, yer killin’ me here,” you say quietly. He moans softly, bucking into your hand. “Love you so much.”

You guess that’s it for him, because before you know it your fingers are covered in _him._ You take them out slowly because you know he’s sensitive right now, and the last thing you’d want to do is hurt him. Once you wipe your fingers off on your soiled boxers, you climb out of the bed and change out of them. “What’cha wanna wear, sugar?” You ask, craning your neck to see John. He’s got his arm slung over his eyes and he’s slumped against your sheets, and it almost looks like he’s boneless, like that. He tells you to just throw him one of your shirts so he doesn’t have to put underwear on, so you dig through your closet until you find one to give him.

Before he can put it on, you tell him you’re going to clean him. You have no choice but to do it with toilet paper from your bathroom because you’re only in your boxers and you just _know_ Bro is home, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Once you’re done, you help him put the shirt on, and then you climb into the bed beside him. He turns toward you and you let him tuck his head under your chin, seeing as you’re about a whole foot taller than him. “Ten. You got a ten.”

You snort a laugh. “I can’t believe you. You’re ridiculous.”

He hums, tilting his head up to kiss your chin. “Sure am, but you love me. And I also know you’re happy that you got a ten.”

“Fuck you, that’s not even true,” you reply, but you know it totally is.

**Author's Note:**

> possible continuation? maybe.
> 
> thanks for reading! :)


End file.
